Kitty Valentine Dates a Cowboy Read online

  I accept a glass of champagne from a silver tray and breathe a sigh of relief. She seems pleased, and I spoke up for Peter, like I’d promised. Now, all that’s left is not embarrassing Grandmother in any way—and, oh yes, finding a cowboy.

  No biggie, right?

  “Kathryn, dear.” Grandmother grabs me in passing and pulls me in close. “The very tall man wearing a cowboy hat in the middle of a charity ball is Patrick Cleary, CEO of Cleary Oil.”

  I can’t miss the man in the cowboy hat. Not only does he tower over almost everybody else in the room, but also, you know, he’s wearing a freaking cowboy hat with a tuxedo.

  He’s also at least sixty years old.

  My heart sinks. “Does he have sons?”

  “From what I remember, yes, he does.” She pats my cheek with a distracted hand, already looking over my shoulder at somebody or something that needs attention. “He might’ve brought them with him, but I don’t know. There were several last-minute additions to the guest list.”

  There are maybe three hundred people here at the moment, but Patrick Cleary’s voice booms out over the low roar of conversation and laughter. I circle the group of people he’s standing in the center of and observe him. Black-and-silver hair stick out from under his hat, and he has dark eyes with deep laugh lines at the corners.

  Okay, so he seems like a fun guy. The people around him laugh genuinely at the story he’s telling.

  Are any of them his sons?

  Jeez Louise, I’m no better than a gold digger. Stalking him in case he brought his rich sons along.

  “She did a good job with this, I guess.”

  My shoulders tense at the comment. Patrick Cleary might as well not exist at the moment since somebody’s talking about my grandmother.

  Maybe it’s the Brooklyn in me, or maybe it’s the fact that I have no other family to defend, but the snotty tone in whoever’s voice I just heard has me ready to fight.

  I glance around until the owner of that snotty voice reveals herself. Tall and willowy with her hair down and pinned to the side to flow over her shoulder. She’s chatting with a couple of other girls and wearing a snide smirk.

  “Granted,” she continues, “my aunt’s work last year raised an unprecedented amount of money for the hospital. I’m sure good old Cecile had more than enough on her hands, teaching her boyfriend how to act in public. No wonder he isn’t here tonight. He’d probably wander around, picking up empty glasses and clearing plates from the tables.”

  What’s that feeling in my head? Like somebody kicked a beehive over. There’s a buzzing in there now. It’s almost deafening.

  “Excuse me.” I take a few steps toward their cluster.

  She turns my way. “Yes?”

  I’d guess she’s roughly my age, maybe a little older. It strikes me as sad that somebody so young could be so close-minded.

  “I was just wondering exactly who you think you are, talking about Peter that way. Do you even know him?”

  She sniffs, looking me up and down. “Do you?”

  “I do in fact. He’s my grandmother’s companion.”

  Boom. Big, bright red spots pop up on her cheeks like magic. Not that she’ll back down that easily. “Oh, is he? That would make you the writer, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m her only grandchild, so yes.”

  “You write that trashy stuff, don’t you?”

  “Trashy?” I fold my arms but otherwise stay perfectly still.

  “Romance.” She wrinkles her nose. “I can’t imagine that takes much work. It must be nice, knowing there’s a safety net in place once you decide to stop writing filth.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Not only is romance not the same as filth, but there’s also a place for both.” I take a step closer. “As for knowing there’s a safety net in place, don’t even get me started. Or did you somehow earn the trust your grandparents had set up for you before you were even born?”

  That’s a guess, but knowing Whitney is her aunt tells me it’s a pretty good guess.

  Her eyes narrow a second before her mouth opens like she’s about to come up with something really, truly nasty.

  Which is when a knight comes in and saves the day. “Hi, honey.” Suddenly, there’s an arm around my waist, and a tall, firm man in a tuxedo is leading me away, toward the bar.

  “Wha—who—”

  “Just relax.”

  Whoever he is, he’s strong. And fast. Before I know it, we’re practically on the other side of the room.

  “What are you doing?” I finally manage to catch my breath long enough to speak, and then I plant my feet once we’ve put a little space between us and that wretched girl.

  “Avoiding a catfight, right here in the middle of the Children’s Hospital fundraiser.”

  I realize he’s laughing a split second before I glance up at him. I practically have to crane my neck, the man towers over me.

  And he’s extremely handsome.

  Other things matter more right now though.

  “Thanks a lot, but I can handle myself.” I sidestep him, so I can get another look at that witch whose extensions I’m about to tear out.

  He sidesteps, too, blocking me. “I’ve seen you walking around with the kind lady chairing this ball, and I don’t think she’d like it much if she knew you were throwing fists.”

  “I have no intention of throwing fists. I can’t claw her eyes out with my fists clenched.”

  She’s in the same spot, saying something snippy to her friends and looking over her shoulder at us. The skank.

  He laughs again. “Come on. Let me get you a drink. You deserve one after dealing with that.” He ushers me to the bar.

  “She has no right to talk about them.”

  “And I’m afraid you’re going to crack a tooth if you clench your jaw any tighter. What would you like to drink?”

  “Bourbon.”

  “Got it.” He requests our drinks from the girl behind the bar, and soon, he presses a glass into my hand.

  “Thank you,” I say before taking a big gulp of the amber liquid.

  I probably shouldn’t drink it so fast, but he’s right—whoever he is.

  “So, who was she talking about?” When I glance up, he shrugs. “You said she has no right to talk about them like that. Who was she talking about?”

  “My grandmother and her partner, Peter. He’s the best. He’s like a grandfather to me.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He used to be my grandmother’s butler.” I look up to check his reaction.

  Dark brows draw together over a straight nose. “I see.”

  “So, I guess you think that’s ridiculous too?”

  He holds up his free hand. “Now, miss, I never said that. I’m not one of those highfalutin snobs like her.” Then, he slides a finger under his collar like he’s uncomfortable. “I hate these events. My daddy insisted I come with him since we’re in town this week and my mama was always a big supporter of children’s hospitals and programs for the families of sick kids. She’s gone now, but I think it would’ve made her happy to know we’re doing our small part.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your mom.”

  “Me too.” He offers a tight smile. “Anyway, here I am. Forcing a smile for a bunch of people I’ll never see again.”

  I hold out a hand. “You also saved that girl’s life back there because I would’ve killed her. Kitty Valentine.”

  “That’s quite a name.” His handshake is firm, his hand big enough to swallow mine. “Paxton Cleary.”

  Bingo.

  Do my eyes widen just a little too much when he says it? I try my darnedest not to look too happy at having accidentally attracted just the man I was looking for. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “It was the perfect excuse to steal you away and pull you over here.” He looks me over with his coffee-colored eyes, and his smile widens.

  Bingo again. He’s interested. This is going well. Don’t mess this up, Kitty.

  “So, what do you do for fun, Paxton Cleary?” I toss my head a little because, well, that’s how people flirt. I’m trying to flirt. I’m trying to make him think I’m not a low-class troublemaker too.

  He purses his generous mouth. “Hmm. I enjoy football, though in Texas, you either enjoy football or you’re shunned by friends and family, so I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I enjoy movies. Old ones in particular.”

  “Me too!”

  “Favorite director?”

  “Billy Wilder.”

  A smile lights up his face. “Me too! Elia Kazan is a close second.”

  “Good choice.”

  Just the fact that he can name-drop like that tells me he knows a little something.

  “You have good taste.”

  “I like to think so.”

  He looks me up and down again in a way that makes my cheeks flush.

  His glass is empty, and he signals the bartender for a refill. Just as she’s about to pour a fresh drink, Paxton is hit from behind and lurches forward, causing her to splash his tuxedo sleeve with alcohol. As the bartender apologizes and tries to wipe off his sleeve, a busty blonde clings to Paxton’s arm.

  “I am so sorry!” she gasps. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I stumbled.”

  Right. She stumbled and just happened to fall against him.

  I do my best to keep a straight face.

  “Oh!” The supposedly clumsy girl feels up Paxton’s arm. “Did I ruin your tuxedo? I’m so, so sorry.”

  “No you didn’t. These things happen,” Paxton tells Busty while easily pulling his arm out of her grasp before turning his attention to the bartender. “It’s not ruined. Don’t worry about it a bit,” he assures the girl wh
o looks close to tears.

  Meanwhile, here I am. Standing here like an idiot, watching this unfold. Wondering how there’s even a universe where this girl thinks she’s not painfully obvious.

  To everybody but Paxton anyway. He’s too busy making sure the bartender knows she’s not going to lose her job over this. The woman waits, smiling a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  I’d chat with her if she’d acknowledge my presence. She only has eyes for Paxton though. When he doesn’t immediately return her attention, she rolls her eyes and walks away.

  “Oh, you just keep on rolling,” I whisper before taking a sip of my drink.

  “Hmm?” Paxton turns his attention back to me. “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing. You okay?”

  “Sure. Just a little vodka. I might have to spill a dash of olive brine on there to make it a dirty-martini situation. Though I’ve always been more of a whiskey man.”

  “I enjoy whiskey myself, as you know.” I raise my glass to him. He touches the rim of his glass against it.

  “What did we toast to?” he asks with an honest-to-God twinkle in his eye, leaning in so I can smell his intoxicating cologne.

  What did we toast to? Oh, I can think of many things.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “So, what happened next?”

  I shrug and then take a sip of my Bloody Mary. “Nothing much. His dad was looking for him, so he had to go. But he did ask me to dinner tonight, and of course, I said yes. I gave him my address, and he’ll be there later to pick me up.”

  Hayley sits back in wonder, shaking her head. “How you manage to find men so easily, I have no idea.”

  “Easily? Did any part of what I just described sound easy? I was about two seconds away from clawing somebody’s eyes out.”

  “But I mean, it just so happened he was exactly who you were looking for.”

  “That’s true. I guess I got lucky again. Though honestly, considering that he saved me from ruining my grandmother’s reputation forever, I’m a little more grateful for that part than I am for meeting a rich cowboy.”

  “What’s his name again?”

  “Paxton Cleary.”

  She whips out her phone and types the name in while I nurse my drink. That bourbon definitely went down too quickly last night. I should’ve paced myself, if only for Grandmother’s sake, but I was so steamed when we first got to the bar.

  I’m still steamed in fact. If that wretched thing were in front of me right now, outside of a fancy ball chaired by my grandmother and surrounded by people who know her, it would be a whole different story.

  I know when Hayley’s jaw pretty much hits the table that she’s found Paxton’s picture. “Oh, holy hell. He’s too hot. It’s burning my eyes.”

  I’m giggling as I take the phone from her to check out what she found. Is it just me, or are my panties ready to melt off?

  Because as hot as he was in a tuxedo, he is about a million times hotter than the sun when he’s dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a flannel shirt, and a Stetson hat. In one picture, he’s sitting astride a gorgeous chestnut horse. In another, he’s grooming a horse in the stables, looking over his shoulder to grin at the photographer and showing off a butt that looks like a denim-covered peach.

  There goes my jaw too. “I’m dying. I literally can’t breathe.”

  “And you’re going to dinner with him tonight?”

  “Great. I wasn’t already nervous enough. Now, I just know I’m going to say something dumb because I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about these pictures.”

  “You can blame it on me. Tell him your best friend stalked him online and found this photo shoot for Forbes and it’s basically soft-core porn.”

  I can’t stop laughing even though I’m blushing to the roots of my hair. It’s like having a sunburn. “You’re just making it worse!”

  “All I have to say is, if this next book doesn’t burst into flames in my hands from the hotness inside, I’m going to have your hormone levels tested.”

  “He’s probably the best-looking of all of the guys I’ve dated. What do you think?”

  “Oh, without a doubt. He’s even hotter than Dr. Jake.”

  “Do you stalk all of my dates online?”

  “Don’t you know by now that your life is one endless distraction for me? If it wasn’t for you, I would have to actually work through the roadblocks I face rather than pretend they don’t exist.” She taps her screen, nodding. “He’s easily the hottest. And the way you make it sound, he’s a really nice guy too.”

  “Honestly, if I had met him on the street, I wouldn’t have known who he was. He had this really easygoing attitude. It didn’t seem like much could shake him. And he was really nice to the bartender and everybody around us. That’s important too.”

  “Oh, no doubt. You can always tell a person by the way they treat people who take care of them.”

  As if on cue, our food arrives, and I dig into my pancakes, hoping by the time I finish them and the bacon sitting beside them, I’ll feel less hungover and more alert to take on the task of getting ready for an important date.

  I really don’t want to mess this up—and not just for the sake of a book. I got a really good feeling about him. This isn’t all trying to talk myself into liking him either. Trying to make him seem more special than he is so I can get into the act of writing yet another book.

  The few minutes I spent with him last night were enough to show me the sort of man I want to be with. No, not wealthy—though that never hurts. He’s kind and thoughtful, and he’s good in a tight spot, which is an excellent quality for any man who dates me. I tend to get myself into tight spots.

  “It’s amazing,” I manage around a mouthful of sweet, banana-studded pancake bliss.

  “What is?” Hayley is a good girl today, eating an egg white omelet with steamed spinach and turkey sausage.

  I swear, she just loves to show me up. Easy for her to eat that way—she didn’t overdo it last night the way I did.

  “The difference between fake confidence and the real deal. Paxton has real confidence. He’s comfortable with himself. He doesn’t have anything to prove. He’s not one of those people who walks around, acting like he owns the world just because he has some money. He’s not flashy about it. What’s the word for that?”

  “You’re the writer.”

  I roll my eyes. “I can’t think of the word right now, but he’s not like that. He’s just … chill. He’s cool. A generally nice person.”

  “Boy, you’re really swooning over him already, aren’t you?” She shoots me a knowing look.

  “No, not swooning. This isn’t some Victorian melodrama. I’m not carrying smelling salts around.”

  “Maybe you need to.”

  “Wow, I’m so glad we’re spending time together.” I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth and chew obnoxiously. It gets on her nerves, which is obviously why I’m doing it.

  “Could you not?”

  “What? I’m only eating.”

  “You’re such a baby sometimes. I mean, I love you, but we both know you’re a hopeless romantic, and we also both know you wouldn’t mind getting serious with somebody. Every time you start dating somebody new, there’s always this hope that this could be the one that works out. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I won’t because you aren’t.”

  “I’m just saying, be careful. Take care of your heart. It’s a pretty nice heart, and I like it. I don’t want you getting all wrapped up in somebody so fast. Especially these really wealthy, business-minded people. You know they’re on a whole other level.

  “He’s super handsome, super hot, and super wealthy, according to a quick skim of that article in Forbes. And from what you’re telling me about him, he’s also super awesome. Just the sort of guy who’s easy to fall for.”

  I look down at my drink, stirring around what’s left. “Why did I think a Bloody Mary and banana pancakes were a good combination?”

  “Beats me.”

  Still staring, I admit, “Maybe I want to fall for somebody. This is, what, my seventh trope? That’s seven guys I’ve dated in roughly a year. I’m bound to get a little black and blue. I’m bound to want to settle into something more with one of them. Why not Paxton?”